The Janitor
by nanayoung
Summary: Harry is a janitor. And while he wasn't always one, he long since accepted the fact that his previous life was behind him. His new way of life wasn't exciting, but it was peaceful and it made him happy. Then he accidentally picked up a hammer that was lying on the ground.


**The Janitor**

 _Summary: Harry is a janitor. And while he wasn't always one, he long since accepted the fact that his previous life was behind him. His new way of life wasn't exciting, but it was peaceful and it made him happy. Then he accidentally picked up a hammer that was lying on the ground._

Harry liked cleaning.

It was easy to do, methodical, and kept him mind off things. When he was younger he hated it, mostly because of the Dursleys and their need to make him do everything over and over again if he got the slightest thing wrong. And during his Hogwarts days he never really got a chance to clean, since the house elves took care of everything. Cleaning just didn't take up much space in his life, since he had other important things to worry about. Like the magical evil overlord who wanted to kill him and everything he knew and loved.

It was only when he ended up in this country - with no money, identity, friends, family, or connections - that he realized how much he liked to clean. Because when you didn't have so much as a birth certificate to prove your identity, getting a cleaning job was pretty much all you could have.

The first few months in this new (… realm? Dimension? World? Universe? He wasn't sure what the terminology for it was. Hermoine would probably know if she were here) place weren't the best for his mental health. He was so confused, so _scared_ of what had happened to him and it didn't help that he had to deal with the side effects of getting sent here. The trip to this new place wasn't the most... comfortable.

It was actually pretty agonizing, on par with the Cruciatus Curse in that he wanted to scream _so badly_. But there was no sound and it just went on and on and _on_ …

He died. For a good few minutes at least. He was only able to get a glimpse of the King's Cross Station, the blurry image of a figure standing before him, before he opened his eyes yet again. He was in an alley at the time and too busy wallowing in his own pain to notice his wounds closing up right in front of him. It was only as he got out of his pain filled haze that he noticed his intestines were regrowing themselves.

The scars never went away though. Still had them all across his body. They were very prominent on his face, more attention grabbing than his forehead scar could ever be. Harry supposed that was also the reason why no one wanted to hire him. Even he had to step back a bit every time he saw himself in the mirror. And wow, wasn't _that_ pathetic as all hell?

And as for magic… he couldn't use it anymore. Well, that wasn't exactly right. He _could_ , but not without harming himself and a great many people around him. Because during the blade filled blender that was his entrance into this world, he had been slipped magical steroids. Because all his spells? Were now a thousand times more potent. And no, that wasn't as great as it seemed to be. Try casting a simple _Lumos_ spell only to have a bloody _small sun_ appear right in front of your face, see how you like it.

Never before had he been so grateful for his new healing factor.

Though the wandless casting was a bit more convenient. Didn't really matter though since he refused to use his magic without gaining a bit more control over himself. And he didn't even want to _imagine_ what some of his spells would do in a crowded city like New York.

This world was kind of like his own in some ways, but different in the ways that mattered to him. Magic didn't exist after all and oh Merlin was _that_ a shock to the system. Wizards, witches, goblins, centaurs… they were all actual myths here. No matter how hard he checked - and he checked really, _really_ hard - he just couldn't find anyone like him.

He often wondered if this was what that Superman bloke must have felt like. Crash landing on a foreign planet, unable to contact the members of your race. Surrounded by people who aren't like you, who would sooner dissect you thank befriend you if they found out the truth. Unable to go home, unable to truly belong.

 _Heh_. Here he was, brooding yet again. He was doing a lot of that lately, wallowing in his own helplessness and self pity. He thought he left that nonsense back in fifth year, when he was a rebellious, angsty teenager. The situation wasn't as bad as he made it out to be. Oh the first few years here weren't exactly sunshine and rainbows, but things got better as time went by. Somewhat anyway.

He wasn't one for giving up before he came here. And he still wasn't. At the back of his mind he still had hope that he would find a way home, that his friends and family would bring him back. But for the most part? He accepted it a long time ago.

He wasn't going back. And if he was, it wasn't going to be for a long, long time.


End file.
